A Different Life
by missabi
Summary: [au] sirius black has escaped from azkaban and it is obvious that he is after six years old little harry potter. do the dursley's care? no. [noparing][okay, not on hiatus, but i still think it sucks]
1. it begain with a

_disclaimer: abi doesn't own the cute little boy, or the not-so-cute little boy, or anyone for that matter, really. really._

* * *

_prologue: It began with a…_

* * *

. 

Harry was quiet. Harry was pale. Harry had curiosity, a trait not uncommonly found in a six year old little boy. But, unlike other six year old little boys, this one in particular also had restraint. It had been beaten into his fragile, impressionable mind by his angry relatives.

Yet…something prevented that innocent curiosity from leaving him completely; the same something that kept him from becoming broken shell of a child in his relatives' harsh care.

Harry was also a special little boy, in many more ways that others are unspectacular. For all that he had the mind and body of a skittish, lonely child, it was obvious to any who cared to look that there was an air about him. Some called it wisdom, others mortality. His Uncle Vernon called it freakish.

---

---

---

"Get your arse out of bed boy, and make yourself useful. God knows your worthless parent's couldn't."

A loud banging noise sounded, it rattled about Harry's little cupboard, shaking the door and knocking dust from the sloping ceiling. Harry was used to it, though, and patiently rolled over, eyes still closed. His left hand searched about above him for the light bulb cord as the banging ceased and a great thundering of heavy steps faded towards the kitchen.

The little boy pouted petulantly at the spider using his trousers as a bed and knocked it away as he changed from the over-sized, old, and worn out t-shirt he wore for pyjamas into the same set of clothes he would wear for that day and the rest of the week.

Harry dressed quickly, pondering his uncle's words. Try as he might, they didn't make much sense. They didn't have to though – Harry's morning routine only changed on the weekends, or when his relatives went away. Today was obviously a weekday, because Uncle Vernon woke him up, rather than Aunt Petunia's shrill voice and incessant tapping.

He left his room – the cupboard – and padded down the hallway, into the kitchen, patting his hair flat absently. He wordlessly pulled the cheap plastic stool designated his towards the counter and stepped up on it, leaning over to his left to turn on the stove. His job, as he'd been taught with a heavy fist, was to cook the bacon, not burn it, and goddamnit boy, leave the fat on, it's there for a reason.

His Aunt marched in not long after, gave him a cursory glance, and started the rest of the breakfast preparations. At the same time, he could hear his uncle settle down at the table. They ignored him, as was usual when they didn't want anything from him.

Twenty minutes later and a plate stacked a quarter of a foot high with bacon, his cousin came storming down the stairs and it was Harry's time to leave so his relatives could have a Family Breakfast.

He put his step stool away, took the slice of buttered bread from the counter left for him and quietly disappeared into the living room. Here he sat on the floor, by the window, and watched the people driving by, on their way to work.

He would have cried, had that too not been beaten out of him. He was lonely, and sad. He didn't understand why his Aunt and Uncle and Cousin hated him so much. Why they hurt him, why they ignored him when they weren't hitting him. Why…

He ate his bread carefully, hidden between the couch and the sill where no one would see him lest they look in through the window from the garden beneath it. As long as he didn't spill, his Aunt would be oblivious of his trespass into the Dursley Family Room – he wasn't Family, he shouldn't have been there.

This window-watching routine had started one day, when he, finally, just _had_ to know where the "school" and the "work" his Cousin, Aunt, and Uncle went to every weekday. In the process of sneaking into the Family Room, in preparation for watching his relatives depart, he realized he could also see Outside.

Outside was forbidden to him. The only time he was even allowed Outside was in the summer, to help attend to Aunt Petunia's flowers. And that was only under her stern eye that he kept his head down and mind to his work. So, this – this freedom, this illicit watching of Outside 'till his Aunt returned from walking Dudley to school was Harry's secret joy.

But this morning was different. This morning his eager green eyes saw something unusual. His Uncle would probably have called it freakish, too. Harry would eventually call it the best thing that ever happened to him.

We are jumping a little ahead, however.

---

---

---

"Petunia, dear, I believe I shall drive Dudley to school this morning. And pick him up on my way home. How's that sound, Dudders?" Vernon said a bit too calmly over the breakfast table as he set away the morning paper and picked up his fork. Petunia frowned.

"Can I sit in the front?" Asked the youngest Dursley, eyes still glued to the small television on the counter playing some sort of generic children's program. Bits of flying bacon and bread also joined this question-that-was-more-of-a-demand.

"Whatever for, Vernon?" Petunia responded to Vernon's first statement.

Vernon, with a pointed look at his one and only, jerked his head towards the paper to his left. Petunia picked it up curiously, only to drop it in her breakfast a moment later with a gasp.

"I…think that would be best. In fact, we should probably keep..." She stopped and started.

"No, no Petunia, think about it. School would probably be safer…In fact, why don't I drop you off at your friend Julia's for the day?" Vernon suggested quietly, so Dudley wouldn't hear him over his television program. It wouldn't due to worry the boy, he thought.

"If you think that's best darling. But what about _him_?"

Vernon sneered. "Pray that he's gone by this evening."

Petunia laughed.

---


	2. interlude i

_disclaimer in first chapter_

* * *

_interlude i_

* * *

. 

When Dumbledore saw fit to leave the tiny waste of space that Harry was on Petunia's door step, the man hadn't even had the courage to explain the situation to her face. He left a letter with the baby, and that was that. Petunia Dursley's problem now.

But the letter had revealed some rather disturbing things, beyond the fact that the boy was like _her sister_. For one, the boy apparently had an insane megalomaniac after his blood. Some man named Voldemort. As far as Petunia was concerned, he could have Harry. She certainly didn't want the boy. However, she continued reading, and nearly dropped the letter in surprise. Not only did Harry seem to have more than one psycho after him…the second of the band of two was Sirius Black.

Sirius Black.

Of all the friends that _her sister_ had ever brought home for visits, Sirius had been the most normal. He had even worn human clothes. Though his style had been a bit too roguish for Petunia's tastes, she had to admit, that of all the witches and wizards _her sister_ had ever brought home, she saw Sirius as the best. If she hadn't been so disgusted with his _abnormalities_, she probably could have stood being in his presence for more than five minutes at a time.

Still, considering the fact that he was a wizard, what the loopy cursive spelt out next didn't come as a surprise to her. _'…incarcerated for the murder of Peter Pettigrew_ (ah, that little rat of a boy)_ and thirteen people in the middle of a busy street. Sirius Black was found guilty of all charges, sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban, and diagnosed as criminally insane by the whole of St. Mungo's psychiatric staff. It was revealed through his murmurings that his murdering of Mr. Pettigrew was tied in with the deaths of James and Lily Potter and the survival of little Harry. We can only assume that he was unleashing his anger at the failure of Harry's death on Mr. Pettigrew. However, I have no reason to believe Sirius will be any threat to you. It is, of course, impossible to escape Azkaban jail. I only thought it prudent that you know of what Sirius has become; I have heard that you two got along rather well. …' _Petunia snorted.

Well, then. Her eyes skimmed over the rest of the writing and she looked down at the baby in its basket on the table beside her. From what she could discern of the rest of Dumbledore's letter, she had no choice in the matter. She and her husband would have to care for the child. She wondered how she would explain it to Vernon when he woke up. She wondered how she would explain it to Dudley.

---


	3. we dream of greatness

_disclaimer in first chapter _

_notes_: check out abi's profile for information about stories and such as well as abi's review/update policy. also check out abi's profile to learn more about abi. :3

* * *

_we dream of greatness_

* * *

. 

Excerpt from the Morning Edition of 'At Home in Little Whinging':

"…_and on this fine autumn morning, we bring you news of a shocking event that occurred late last night, after many of you were safe asleep in your beds. Daniela Stundard tells us about how her husband was coming home late from work last night, only to be attacked in his car, at the stoplight on the corner of Privet Drive and 113th street. Mrs. Stundard continues on to recount her husband's horrific encounter with a man identified and confirmed by local police to be Sirius Black. _

_Sirius Black is the highly dangerous criminal we profiled in the Evening Edition of November the 12th. As you should all remember, Black was convicted of the murder of fourteen people five years ago. He escaped from his high-security, solitary confinement prison cell two weeks ago. _

_Mrs. Stundard tells us Black broke the driver side window of her husband's car and dragged Mr. Stundard through it bodily. Black then proceeded to demand the where-a-bouts of, as of this moment, an unknown individual named Harry Potter. When Mr. Stundard could not answer Black, Black beat him into unconsciousness and fled the scene. Other than Mr. Stundard, who is now in hospital recovering from injuries that have left him paralyzed from the neck down, no witnesses have come forward. We at the Morning Edition urge the public to be on high-alert and to not venture anywhere alone. Black is reportedly unarmed, but that does not mean he is not capable of obtaining a weapon, or that he is not a weapon on his own. Police will also be patrolling the streets of Little Whinging by night. _

_If anyone has any information regarding this crime, or the unknown Mr. Harry Potter, we beg them to come forward to their nearest police station, no names are required._

_The Morning Edition has set up a fund for Mr. Stundard's..."_

---

---

---

When everyone was gone from the house, it was understood that Harry was to retire to his cupboard after his morning chores and remain there until he was called upon later in the day. Yet, so long as he was careful to ensure he left no traces behind, and he was in the cupboard with the light on, door shut, and broken little toys out when his Aunt returned, he had free reign of the house.

The Dursleys never locked anything (excepting the moments they locked Harry in his cupboard for misbehaviour, however, that rarely happened anymore) but the front door when they left, trusting and arrogant that their word was law to the supposedly beaten and broken little boy.

As soon as the car disappeared from Harry's sight down the road, he got up and ran to the kitchen. Dragging the chair Dudley had left in front of the kitchen television, he used it to crawl onto the counter beside the fridge. From the cupboard there, he withdrew two of the many boxes of sugary snacks Petunia kept for Dudley. As long as he was sure to leave the wrappers in the garbage in Dudley's room, no one would be the wiser to his pilfering of them – Aunt Petunia cleaned Dudley's room when she got back from walking him to school.

He took two granola bars and a soda-pop packet and replaced the boxes. The snacks went into his one good pocket and he looked around quickly before setting out to clean the kitchen.

When he was done, he went back to his spot by the window and emptied the goodies onto the sill and hid them behind the curtain. He seemed to know instinctively that a little paranoia was better than to be caught defying his controllers. He deposited the wrappers in his cousin's room and ran back down stairs to enjoy both his treats – the food and Outside.

---

---

---

Harry's eyes were fixated on a meandering figure, one that was making its almost drunken way down the sidewalk across the lane. Normally he only saw people in cars pass by, or perhaps someone jogging; an elderly person walking a dog if he was lucky. So this figure instantly captured Harry's attention.

The erratic figure was a man, as far as Harry could tell, and he was rather unkempt. He had scraggly, dirty, thick elbow-length hair. He was wearing torn, voluminous, indiscernible black clothing, and he was just the sort of character Harry knew his relatives wouldn't approve of. Perhaps that was why the man interested Harry so much.

Harry watched intently as the man made his way down the street opposite number four and crossed, pausing for a moment in front of number five. The man's eyes constantly roved his surroundings. Within moments, he moved on, eyes still darting about, pace still erratic, and apparently talking to himself. He seemed a little oblivious for a moment before coming to a dead halt again – in front of number four.

The figure turned slowly, eyes closed and nostrils flaring. Harry kept his gaze steady on the man, though he could see a woman jogging her way up the street from the right (joggers were his favourite). The next moments were so swift in their happening, Harry almost thought that he'd blinked, save for the excitement he felt in his stomach.

The man opened his eyes slowly – grey, like thunderclouds – and, almost unerringly, met Harry's gaze through the window. To Harry, the man seemed so much closer it must have been impossible. Harry _knew _no one could see him unless they were standing in the garden…yet, he also knew that this dirty, dishevelled man was staring straight at _him._

Time seemed almost to stand still, and Harry fancied he could see the man mouthing his name.

The moment was broken, however, as the woman jogging made her way closer to number four. The man jumped and swivelled wide, wild eyes towards her before disappearing with what Harry would swear was a quiet cracking noise, even though he knew he couldn't have possibly have been close enough to here something so faint.

Harry gave the woman jogging a dirty look and finished his treat. After systematically removing every crumb from the sill and the floor, he smudged out the imprint his form left in the carpet with his hand and retreated to his room. There was nothing he'd dare do now that his aunt might return at any moment, so he decided to go read the book he'd pilfered from Dudley's second bedroom.

It was about a boy named Arthur and a wizard named Merlin. It was the most interesting book Harry had ever laid his hands on. It was almost as good as the book the old lady who used to take care of him when he was too young to take care of himself read to him – something about a witch and a wardrobe. That had been a long time ago and he couldn't really remember much about the book, just that he'd really really like it. The story had made him proud of having his cupboard.

---

---

---

Hours later, Harry had finished the book (the boy had become a king by drawing a sword from a stone!) and wondered where his Aunt was. He crept out of his room quietly and made his way to the living room, where he could see the road. But there was no sign of his Aunt anywhere.

As he sat curled up on the floor, staring out the window, he tried to figure out where his Aunt could be when she'd always returned to give him work, without fail, after bringing his Cousin to School every weekday as long as he could remember. Presently a noise came to distract his thoughts.

In fact, it was more than one noise, it was a series of noise. Tinkling noises, rustling noises, clanking and banging noises, and, as he drew closer to the back door, heavy breathing noises.

No! What if it was his Aunt, gone out back to retrieve something from the shed? She probably had come home and Harry had been too engrossed in his story to notice. She probably had rapped on his door and demanded that he help. She would be mad now! Harry quickly opened the back door, it not registering in his mind that if his Aunt Petunia had gone out that way, the door wouldn't be locked and would most likely have been left open.

"Aunt Petunia, it's me, I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry! The door got stuck and it took time to get it open! Here I'll take i…" The person that greeted him on the other side of the door wasn't his Aunt Petunia. It wasn't even a person.

It was the filthiest, most snarlingist dog he had ever seen. He stepped back in fear of the great black beast that the dog was and frantically searched his mind for a solution to this problem.

He was about to slam the door shut and lock it (the dog hadn't crossed the threshold yet) when that part of his mind, the part that he trusted unquestioningly to always lead him right, told him different. Instead, he took a deep breath and moved back, out of the way.

The dog looked a little surprised and Harry wondered if that was possible. Then, the animal moved off the porch and into the house. Harry edged around it and shut the door, pressing himself against the white portal. The back door entrance way was not much bigger than his little cupboard and the dog's shoulders came up to his own. Bracing a hand on the dog's back, he edged his way back in front of it and frowned. Now what?

In the next instant, the dog licked his face. Just as suddenly, the dog was gone.

As was the back door, the hallway, the stand of shoes, the table with the vase of chrysanthemums on it.

Harry woke up. He pushed the open book off his chest and it made a muffled thump when it hit the floor.

He could hear someone moving about the house.

He knew instinctively that it wasn't Aunt Petunia.

---


	4. swept away

_disclaimer in first chapter _

_warnings_: unbeta'd, cracking author, crappy story

_edit:_ um..."marred the strange puckered curse" yeah, glad i caught that one. fixed now.

* * *

_swept away_

* * *

. 

Shaking off the effects of the strange dream, Harry moved quietly and pushed his ear to the door. There definitely was someone else in the house, the noises that had woken him up were from unnaturally deft footsteps making their way up the stairs so lightly that not a singly speck of dusk fell from the ceiling of his cupboard. Through the grate on the door he could hear whoever it was moving around in one of the bedrooms upstairs.

The person finished going through all the rooms, from what it sounded like to Harry, and proceeded back downstairs. The person paused in the hall, and in fact, Harry could just make out dark, dishevelled clothing through the slats of the grate on his door. He covered his mouth with his hand and held very still. Presently, the person spoke, confirming, at least, that he/she was male.

"He's here…smell…so powerful, especially…but where…?" Harry could see enough to make out that the man was pacing up and down the length of the hall, and he could hear strange snuffling noises.

Smell him? The man could smell him, like a dog? Normal people couldn't do stuff like that! Surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly if his lack of outside life and Dursleys were factored in, Harry never thought to fear the strange man pacing up down the hallway outside his cupboard muttering about smelling people.

Harry was of course, curious about the man, but he knew what he was do to around strangers in the Dursley house – and that was to stay completely out of sight and pretend he didn't exist. But...he reasoned to himself, the Dursleys weren't there, and besides, if the man did anything, he'd be blamed! Harry swallowed thickly around the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. He moved off his little cot and pushed at the door to open it, as there wasn't a handle on his side. But he didn't even think about what sort of trouble he might get into with the Dursleys (he didn't know to fear any from the strange man). Something else was guiding him, very much like that strange feeling he'd had to let the dog in from his dream.

The door opened, and the man swivelled quickly and animal-like to Harry's form, as the boy stepped out into the hallway.

"Harry? Is that you! What are you doing here? Look how you've grown! Oh, come here, my boy!" The man crossed the distance of the hall between them and enveloped him in a suffocating embrace. "Thank god I found you Harry."

Harry, unsure as to exactly why this strange man was hugging him (he'd only seen people hug, no one had ever hugged him before, he didn't deserve it). He tried pushing weekly at the strong, skinny arms around him, but the man seemed bent on squishing him and Harry sighed and gave into it as it felt nice in a way that brought tears to his eyes and made him think of those exhilarating dreams about green light and flying motorcycles that he never told the Dursleys about.

In no time, Harry found himself back on his feet and enshrouded in the man's warm winter cloak (it was cold in the house, the Dursleys never let the heat on just for Harry). The man knelt down in front of him, looking past him for a moment into the cupboard. Anger and sorrow, and something Harry couldn't name but was actually regret crossed through his widened eyes.

"I'm going to take you away from here, Harry, like I should have years ago. Your parents would have wanted it. I'm going to take a look around the house again, so I want you to go into your bedroom and pack anything you want to bring with you in this bag." The man pulled a strange dark brown rucksack off of his shoulder and handed it to Harry. Then, impulsively, he smoothed Harry's hair down gently, so it covered his scar.

Harry still didn't know what to think of this strange man, was he really going to take him away? Really? Like all those daydreams he fantasized about when things got really bad… but, would the man really want him, or did the…But he had mentioned Harry's parents. The Dursleys had never told Harry what happened to them. Maybe this man knew. Harry hoped he would find out before the man got bored and hated him too.

"Harry, Harry! Look at me." The man shook him slightly, knocking him from his thoughts. "You are never coming back here. I will not allow it. Now pack what you want and we shall leave." The man smiled and stood up, pushing him gently towards the cupboard door, before leaving in his earlier mentioned perusal of the house.

---

---

---

After Harry had finished packing the few meagre, broken possessions he owned, he crept slowly upstairs to join the funny man that seemed to be growling lowly at the door to Dudley's second bedroom. Harry giggled lightly because it sounded sort of like a dog protecting it's food but not really, and moved forward to curl his hand in the man's strange robe-like clothing at his side.

"Ah, Harry, done then? Okay, we'll be leaving now." He cast one last dangerous look at the room as he took the rucksack from Harry and carefully herded the small boy at his side down the stairs and out the back door he'd come through earlier.

They walked for a long time, farther away from Privet Drive than Harry had ever dreamed to be. But, while used to physical labour of a sort, Harry wasn't used to walking for any length of time, and he lagged behind as far as he could while still clutching at the strange robe-like sleeve. The man, of course, noticed quickly enough that Harry wasn't fairing so well, and picked the boy up, apologising.

"Well, this seems far enough." He walked off to the side of the road. The boy and the man disappeared from sight behind a large, overgrown privacy hedge. "Okay, I want you to close your eyes and hold tight to me."

And they were gone with a soft crack

---

---

---

The reappeared in what Harry found out quickly enough, was a broken train station bathroom. He looked around curiously at all the people as they emerged, but felt strangely safe and comfortable in the man's arms as they weaved through the throng.

"I would have gone straight there, but I don't want to set anyone on our trail. I'll have to deal with… Never mind. Look Harry, there's the train we'll be taking." Harry listened raptly as the man continued to speak about where they were going and what they'd be doing to get there, among other things. He knew he should be scared, having been essentially kidnapped from the Dursleys house that morning. But really, Harry thought, didn't you have to be unwilling to be kidnapped? Yes, he'd wanted to go with the strange man that said he had known Harry's parents and that growled at Dudley's second bedroom.

Presently the two boarded the train, and Harry found himself sat down carefully on a bench in their own private compartment. The man sat beside him and watched too, as Harry looked out the window at the crowds on the platform. A sign over a distant archway told him he was at King's Cross.

"Harry." The man smiled warmly down at him and fussed with his hair again. "Now that we're here, how about you and I have a little chat?"

"Um…okay." He said quietly. Hadn't that been what they were doing all the way to this point, talking? The man frowned, marring a strange scar that crossed his face diagonally.

"How about this, you ask a question, then I'll ask a question, and we trade off?" Harry nodded at that. "Now, do you want to go first, then?" Harry shook his head. "Well, if you're sure. Hmmm." There was silence for a few moments.

"How about…what did you do today?"

Harry knew he wasn't supposed to talk about the stuff he did for the Dursleys…with **anyone**, but they weren't here, and that something in his stomach that always led him right told him to trust this man. So he found himself rattling off everything that had happened since he woke up. The chores, the watching the window, the sneaking food, the man, the dream about the dog. The man beside him frowned again, and muttered something to himself, but didn't say anything to Harry beyond, "Well, that is certainly a busy day, no? Okay, your turn."

"…you said you knew my parents, right…well…um, who're you?" Harry nervously looked at his hands, watching the fingers twist in the thick fabric of the cloak he was wrapped in.

The man smiled down at him this time, puckering that scar again, but in a way that was much more friendly than the frown from earlier. His amber eyes were warm and the corners crinkled a little, but a strange sense of loss surrounded them as they turned to look off into some distance yet unseen.

"Well, Harry, I was a friend of your parents. My name is Remus Lupin."

---


	5. interlude ii

_notes:_ gah, abi is so happy! she managed to fool three of you at least! yay :3

_warnings: _another interlude...and if i get any complaints, i'll stop working on the rest of the story! seriously! twitches and gives in okay, i won't...but...i'll be slightly annoyed. don't you want to have a fleshed-out, sensible story? i assure you, remus wasn't pulled straight from left field.

_**!important!: **_chapter dedicated to Air5 for making abi so utterly joyous and delighted and very much appreciated! SQUEE! you like my writing 3

* * *

_interlude ii_

* * *

. 

Remus signed off his time out and picked up his tattered case. He carefully folded his dark brown woollen greatcoat over his arm and exited the bar, waving good-byes in return to the various regulars that called out to him as he left through the pub's entrance. He headed towards the town's library.

Despite not knowing a thing about mixing drinks, or really anything about alcohol at all, when he'd walked down the street and seen the "help wanted" sign on the Pub's door, he'd applied for the job in that instant, out of sheer desperation.

At the time, Remus had only been a resident of the town for a measly two hours. Having been chased out of the last wizarding settlement he'd called home, he decided to try his luck with the muggle world. After securing a basement suit apartment – which included cellar access – with help of Arthur, he'd wandered the town, trying to find a job. He had had only enough money for that month's rent, but all the other prospective employers in he'd run across had turned him down due to lack of experience.

But the pub had hired him. The owner was a middle-life aged man with dark hair, indeterminate brownish eyes and a tall, stocky build. The owner, whom Remus had found out was filling the bartender position for the woman that had worked there before, greeted Remus from behind the counter with a critical eye for the battered case, carefully patched clothing, and tired, thin face. The man looked ready to toss him out on principle, but something in Remus' expression must have changed his mind.

"_Lookin' fer a job?"_

"_Yes, sir." _

"_Got any experience bartendin'?"_

"_No, sir." The man looked at him, examining him._

"_I've not seen ya 'round here, ya new ta town? Gotta name?" _

"_I have just moved here, my name is Remus Lupin. I may not know anything about bartending, but I learn quickly and will work hard. Please, I need this job." Remus was getting near frantic. He took a deep breath. So, this was the last place he'd gone to look for a job at. So he'd starve if he didn't get that job. He had to make a good impression, show the man he was capable, worth hiring. He took another deep breath and smiled at him warmly. _

"_Hold yer horses, boy, there ya go." The man nodded, setting down the glass he'd been cleaning and leaned on the countertop. _

"_It be true I'm in need of a new 'tender. I can't be workin' all th' shifts by meself. And it be true tha' I can train ya quick enough in all ya need to know—"_

_A chorus of "We can 'elp!" came from the group of men sitting on stools at the counter, blatantly eavesdropping in on the interview/conversation._

"—_and yes, they can help." He grinned good naturedly at the motley assortment of men ranging in ages from barely legal to toothless oldster. Remus remained silent, attentive. He couldn't blow this._

"_Wha' matters is tha' yer trustful, responsible—"_

_Again he was interrupted by the regulars: "Jus' 'ire th' poor man already, lookit 'im!"_

_The owner shot a look at the group, and a few of the younger ones found other things to scrutinize, the rest just laughed._

"—_is tha' yer responsible, and won't run off an git yerself in th' delicate way wit' some high and fancy ta-do from the city!" He finished, laughing at the completely flabbergasted look on Remus' face._

"_That's…all?" Remus finally managed. He brushed a few strands of hair away from his face and tried to steady his racing pulse._

"_Tha's all." Agreed the owner. "My name's Clive Brancot, boy. C'mon, ge' back 'ere, ya can put yer stuff there." He opened up the swinging bit of counter designed for such purpose and ushered Remus behind the bar, showing him a cupboard he could use to store his things. _

"_Yer sleeve's're already buttoned, good, ya gotta keep 'em that way, or else roll 'em up. 'Ere, put this on." Clive handed Remus a black full length apron. When Remus was properly done up, he pushed the younger man towards the group of regulars – the only people currently in the pub at this hour. _

"'_Kay, boys, ya know wha' ta do."_

_A chorus of "yessir." Remus looked at Clive in confusion. He grinned, pulling a stool out from under the counter and sat down on it at an angle between the customers and Remus. _

"_Ya take 'em one at a time, fer now, ask 'em wha' they want, I'll tell ya 'ow ta make it."_

That had been one of the best days of his life.

Remus liked Clive, his boss. The man was like a rock, almost. Clive worked in the pub from five pm to five am, dealing with the more surly drunks and keeping an eye on the place through the night. Besides Remus, only two other people worked at Clive's place, a red-hair, green eyed woman in her thirties and another man, around forty, and both of them only worked part-time. Remus never took sick-time (he never got sick), and the only times he did take off were the week that encompassed the full moon. Clive never questioned that.

Arriving at the library, Remus went in, greeting the lady at the desk and making a beeline for the newspaper and magazine racks. He gathered up his material and settled himself down for a nice, long two-and-a-half hours read. His morning ritual.

"Ah, Mr. Lupin, sir?" Remus looked up, the lady from the front desk was standing across the table from him, holding a newspaper folded neatly in one hand.

"Yes, Miss Jacobs?"

"This came 'bout seven thirty this morn' I think maybe you wan' ta see th' second page." She handed it to him and wandered off back to the front desk, fixing a couple of tilted books on the display.

Remus looked down at the paper. 'At Home in Little Whinging; Morning Edition.' What kind of info could he possibly get out of that? Why would Sirius have anything to do with some little pocket of suburb? He shrugged and flipped the paper over, ignoring the unease developing in the pit of his stomach.

The strength with which he gripped the paper when his mind took in the words ripped it. He shot a look over at Miss Jacobs to make sure she hadn't noticed before smoothing out the paper and reading on. _"…proceeded to demand the where-a-bouts of, as of this moment, an unknown individual named Harry Potter. When Mr. Stundard…"_

Hairs on the back of Remus' neck rose. This was it. This was what he'd been looking for. This was exactly what he'd been looking for. The one time he'd gone to Dumbledore, the old man had refused to tell him anything. Oh, Dumbledore was misleading enough, but Remus had the sneaking suspicion he'd actually gone away from that meeting with less knowledge than what he'd went into it with. Fool of an old man for disregarding Remus' message about the merits of monitoring the muggle news networks when Sirius escaped.

Harry was in Little Whinging, Remus could tell that much from the article. Sirius, despite his mental detachment, wasn't stupid. Sirius wouldn't go around flinging the name of the Boy Who Lived about if he weren't sure. Sirius was just having difficulties pinpointing the boy because of the wards, most likely.

But Remus was different. The powers of Remus' werewolf senses were infinitely stronger than Sirius' animagus ones. And Remus had a trick or two up his own sleeve. With the general area, Remus was sure he could find Harry first.

Remus had met the Dursleys. He knew what they'd do to a little boy like Harry.

He hated Dumbledore for allowing that.

---

---

---

Ten minutes later, Remus was back in the pub, pounding on the door at the top of a flight of stairs that opened out into the back of the building.

"Clive, CLIVE! I need to talk to you! Open UP! I'm sorry!" He pounded frantically on the door.

Normally he would have just left, forget his house, forget the job. But this was the safest, most stable place Remus had ever been in his life. He had friends again, and he knew that this little town would be the best place to hide Harry when he got the boy. So he needed to be able to count on having a job when he got back.

"Hold yer horses, boy, wha's the problem so early in th' morn'?" Clive asked, opening the door with bleary eyes, dressed only in a pair of long underwear. Remus ignored it, pushing the man and himself inside and closing the door.

"I need a vacation. It doesn't have to paid, just the assurance that I'll have time off for a while and be able to come back and still have my job." He said quickly, clearly.

"Whoa, boy, slow down, there! Wha's this 'bout a vacation? Look, I deal wi' th' moon stuff wi' no question, yer gonna haveta tell me why and we'll see wha' we can do, Remus." Clive sat down on the dark brown couch that took up half his living room and gestured Remus to do the same.

"What I say here, you promise you'll tell no one?" Remus looked the man in the eye, knowing how mesmerizing his own amber-coloured irises could be.

"O' course, ya don' 'aveta even ask!" Clive leaned forward, face showing an expectant expression.

Remus nodded. "I… thank you." He pulled the newspaper out from under his arm and placed it on the coffee table, unfolding it to the second page, which featured a picture of Sirius. Clive looked and nodded, he'd heard the story.

Remus took a deep breath and started. "This man is Sirius Black. He was once the best friend of a man named James Potter. We were all friends." Remus paused for a moment so Clive could read the article. Clive's eyes widened, but other then that he didn't say anything.

"Yes, the person he's looking for is Harry Potter, James' only son, Sirius' godson. Harry is currently in hiding with his mother's relatives, and, being what I am, they wouldn't even consider letting me adopt the boy. I know Lily's sister, and I can tell you with all certainty that they're abusing the boy in some way. I need the time off so I can find him and bring him here, away from the Dursleys and away from Sirius." Clive was giving him a scrutinizing look now. Like he knew Remus was withholding important information.

"So that's why you're at the library three hours a day, reading these?" He nudged the newspaper with a finger.

"Yes."

"And you're going after this boy, because?" Clive was examining him again.

Remus didn't even pause to think about his answer. "Sirius will kill him, if he finds Harry first. The Dursleys will eventually destroy him, if he's left with them. I have to do this because he's all I have left of my best friends, my old life."

Clive, to give him credit, didn't even seem phased by Remus' response. He carefully folded up the newspaper and handed it back to the other man.

"Good answer. I'll want to see this Harry when you get back." Remus nodded, and hurried out the door.

---

* * *

_!please don't kill me for all the notes! _

* * *

_this entire story, henceforth, will be dedicated to all those that read, and those that review. as i have stated previously, many, many times, i hate this story with a burning passion unrivaled. yes, it is completely written, but...i just hate it, okay? if it wasn't for the reviews and my thoughts for the people reading, i would have given up at the first chapter. but because i feel that it is only fair that i continue on for your sake, i will. although i can't help but admit, it is growing on me. the heavy, heavy editing and rewriting are really helping me polish my own style. _

_i know how it feels to start reading a story, only to find that it will never be finished. i never want to do that to anyone,  
_

_ thank-you all  
_


End file.
